Drift Log | Lake Wenatchee, WA | November 2019
Every Thanksgiving memories wash up on my mental shore. Such as: Three deaf-mute brothers, guests at our family table, silently fighting over the last drumstick. A coma-like nap after five servings of oyster dressing at the Holiday Inn buffet. Raw turkeys, fleshy pink, lined in a snowbank during a 24-hour power outage. A roasted bird carved, slashed really, by a weight lifter tattooed with Polynesian death designs. These remembrances drift from way over there to arrive here. They linger to be digested long after the yams and stuffing have disappeared.